


Will There Really Be A Morning?

by nichestars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curtain Fic, Domestic Fluff, Multi, au: Leia is the chosen one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 10:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12768801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nichestars/pseuds/nichestars
Summary: He had chosen to leave, that bloody day on the Tantive IV, had chosen to run, even when Bail offered him refuge. It had felt impossible to accept.It feels as heavy now, the weight of possibility.Or: A little over a year after the end of Episode III, Obi-Wan receives a message that forces him to return to Alderaan, and to Bail and Breha Organa.





	Will There Really Be A Morning?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perspicacia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perspicacia/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: "Obi-Wan Kenobi/Bail Organa and/or Obi-Wan Kenobi/Bail Organa/Breha Organa, nothing too strong in kinks/tropes please. Nothing of the 'Jedi are evil and had it coming' trope. I love fanworks about Obi-Wan living with the Organas instead of alone in his sad hut, for example. There can be angst but please don't make me cry too much." There is a little angst, and he does start out in his sad hut, but I promise he doesn't stay there! 
> 
> This was a new challenge for me: a pairing I’ve talked a lot about but never written. I was super excited to write it for this exchange, and I hope you enjoy it, [@Perspicacia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Perspicacia/pseuds/Perspicacia)! 
> 
> Thanks to [V](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh), [belugas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/belugas), and [messwithlove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/messwithlove) for the constant beta-ing, affirmation, and cheerleading. Title is from the poem of the same name by Emily Dickinson.

It’s just before dusk, setting suns turning the afternoon’s sandstorm into a pink haze across the dunes. The banthas are restless, ready to be milked, as Obi-Wan closes the gate behind them. There’s a line of exhaust on the horizon, too low for a ship. Someone’s taken a speeder out -- someone who isn’t afraid of Tuskens. For a moment, Obi-Wan’s chest constricts. Is it Owen? He’d only venture from the Lars’ homestead this late in the day if something were wrong: like the time the child had a fever he and Beru couldn’t bring down. But there’s no disturbance in the Force. Obi-Wan would know if Luke were in danger. 

He focuses, instead, on the evening’s chores. Milking the banthas, refilling their water trough, checking the perimeter of the enclosure as he counts wooly heads. With the setting of the first sun, the air has chilled, making Obi-Wan pull his robe tighter around his chest. It’s the short winter season on Tatooine, and the evening comes quicker now than the rest of the year.

Inside, he lights an oil lamp and centers himself in the dirt floor of the kitchen, willing away shivers. _There are no elements, only the Force,_ he tells the quiet of his hut. “Which is obviously untrue,” he reflects. “If anything, doesn’t the Force manifest itself _in_ the elements?” 

It’s the sort of question Qui-Gon would have loved debating in the temple gardens, a lifetime ago. 

There’s the sound of an engine whining, and Obi-Wan snaps to the present. The sick feeling in his stomach makes him envy Qui-Gon his liberty from corporeal form. The engine sputters and goes silent, and there’s a crunch of boots on the sand in front of the hut. 

Moving silently through the kitchen, Obi-Wan stands in the shadow of the passageway, watching the round transparisteel window by the door. A shape crosses the small pane, shadowed, and a human voice speaks. “Kenobi?” 

 

;

 

She’s only the second ghost he’s seen on Tatooine. 

Still -- this is one he isn’t expecting, and Obi-Wan’s hand jumps for a saber that is no longer at his hip.

“Padmé,” he says, disbelieving, and the woman’s face changes as she smiles. She has lines at her eyes that Padmé never lived to have. 

“I didn’t expect to fool you twice, General.” 

“Sabé.” He shakes his head. “How did you find me here?” 

The former handmaiden gives him a shrewd look. “A mutual friend sent me. Aren’t you going to invite me in?” 

Obi-Wan pushes the door open and steps aside to let her pass, gesturing. “There’s not much to invite you in _to_ , I’m afraid.” 

Sabé laughs, softly under her breath. “Bail told me you were living as a hermit on Tatooine, but I’ll admit I thought he was being illustrative, not literal.” 

The smile hurts Obi-Wan’s face, surprising him. He smoothes down his beard with careful fingertips. He can still remember the more impassioned conversations he had with Bail, in the hallways of the Senate and after dinner on the patio of his office. When they’d shared adjacent berths and drinks during Republic conclaves in the Clone Wars, staying up late after the rest of the council had dispersed. _Illustrative_ is an apt description of his old friend. 

Sabé sets down a pack Obi-Wan hadn’t noticed she was carrying, surveying the room. It’s empty but for a table, and two chairs Owen had brought over one afternoon, strapped to the back of the speeder. “Beru wants a new set for the house,” he’d said, gruffly, not looking at Obi-Wan. “And Shmi would’ve hated us wasting anything, so.” 

_So,_ Obi-Wan thinks, another thing he’s taken from Owen. 

“They need you to go to Alderaan,” Sabé says. Her voice is low, respectful of the quiet the hut has fallen into. “Bail didn’t want to send a comm, given the nature of the… issue.” 

“The issue,” Obi-Wan repeats. Bail understands his purpose here. Any issue that requires Obi-Wan to leave Tatooine would have to be–

“His daughter has recently developed the talent of moving things with her mind.” 

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “No, I would have felt it. That isn’t possible, Luke hasn’t displayed any Force capabilities or even _awareness_ in the Force.”

Sabe raises an eyebrow at him, and shrugs eloquently. “I’ve seen it myself. It’s not the sort of thing Bail could fake to get your attention.” 

_Could_ , Obi-Wan’s brain says. _Is she implying he_ would? _That’s ridiculous._

"She’s not implying anything of the sort," he tells himself, gruffly, and then flushes as Sabe’s other eyebrow raises. 

He can feel a tremor of amusement running through the Force. He should’ve known the habit of talking to himself and to the banthas would come back to bite him in the ass. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “Just–you’ve seen it?” 

Sabe nods. “The mobile above her crib, her toys. Small things, for now.” 

For now. 

Yoda had been right, and now he would be insufferable, Obi-Wan reflected morosely. 

“I know why you’re here,” Sabé says. “It’s why Bail sent me -- other than not trusting the comms. I can watch the boy while you’re gone.” 

It’s an offer Obi-Wan can’t refuse. 

He has to go to Alderaan.

 

;

 

He gets a drink before the flight. The bar owner hates his hood and the way other customers break away from the counter to let him through, but loves his old Republic credit chips. Obi-Wan drinks alone and remembers the first time he’d come here, just over a year ago, unmoored and searching. He’d barely had a location for the Lars’ homestead then, much less any idea of where he would go after he left Luke with them. 

The dark brew is no better now than it was then, and leaves the same unsettled feeling in his stomach. 

 

;

 

Obi-Wan hadn’t anticipated _missing_ the rush and contraction of hyperspace. For so much of his life it was simply a reality: you flew to get somewhere, and your focus was on the destination, not the journey, no matter what Anakin said. In retrospect, he considers, that might have been a warning; he simply hadn’t been watching for warnings. 

Now -- after months when the extent of his travels were into the Mos Eisley spaceport on Bendu-day for the market, or across the edge of the dune sea to patrol the Lars’ property and ward off Raiders -- the cold stillness of space, the inevitable lurch of thrusters, is somehow nostalgic. 

It’s a mid-sized civilian transport: large enough for comfortable anonymity, but not so large that it requires an Imperial escort. The Empire has extended only the slightest tendrils of its presence towards Tatooine. Obi-Wan isn’t sure if it’s because Palpatine has no interest in a desert planet that has few resources to appropriate, or if Vader’s distaste for the home planet of Anakin Skywalker has offered it some backhanded protection.

Obi-Wan takes a breath and holds it, closing his eyes and retreating into the comfort of meditation. The problems of the past are done, and the problems ahead are the problems of tomorrow. He’ll face them when he arrives in Aldera. 

 

;

 

The spaceport is as he remembers it, although he hasn’t flown into Aldera for three years now. The capital city of Alderaan is glittering, reflecting the brilliance of the surrounding snow-covered peaks. For a moment, standing on the platform, lungs filling with the clean, green-smelling air, faces lit with the joy of reunions bustling around him, Obi-Wan feels profoundly… lonely. It’s a different sort of rush than the city streets of Coruscant, but the swarm of the spaceport vividly reminds Obi-Wan of his previous life. He half expects Anakin to tug at his sleeve, smug voice telling him to _come along, master_. 

Instead, he nearly stumbles over a small child, and then narrowly avoids the ire of its mother, letting the crowd sweep them apart as easily as it had brought them together. He ends up at the far end of the loading platform, watching the [train] sweep away across the gracefully arched bridges that carry travelers over the glass-like lake, away from the port and into the city proper. The water is deep sapphistone blue, and glazed along the edges with lace-like ice. Obi-Wan hunches his shoulders, drawing his cloak closer around himself. It’s properly cold here, an edge to the weather that never arrives on Tatooine. 

“Ben?” 

Caught in memories, Obi-Wan almost forgets to respond to the name. Belatedly, he turns, and a sterling-plated protocol droid bows formally. 

“My apologies, Master Organa neglected to share your formal title, but you are his contact from Tatooine, I presume?” 

“Yes––”

“Deefor Tee-ay,” the droid interjects, bowing again. “I will be accompanying you to the palace, if you will come this way.” 

His stilted formality reminds Obi-Wan of another droid. Another time. 

_You’ve become more prone to nostalgia than Master Mundi,_ he tells himself, following Deefor down a tiled walkway towards a private loading area. _Let the past be, Kenobi. You’re not here to reminisce._

All the same, it’s hard _not_ to let his mind wander back, with the anticipation of seeing an old friend again. Bail was the last familiar face he saw as he left for Tatooine -- now he’ll be the first that Obi-Wan has seen in more than twelve months.

They step into a small, closed speeder, and the droid connects to a port on the interior panel, confirming a set of coordinates. Obi-Wan settles against luxuriously padded seating, and wipes clammy hands on his trousers. He’s suddenly conscious of how shabby his clothes must look in comparison to the carefully polished shine of the protocol droid, and the tasteful elegance of the speeder. 

They pull into a priority lane of traffic, winding under the railcar tracks and along the edge of the lake smoothly. Outside, the dark green-black of evergreen foliage tipped in silver and white becomes a blur, and Obi-Wan wonders at the deep blue of the sky. It’s clear, with a few wisps of cloud over the mountaintops, a striking contrast to the pale haze of the Tatooine landscape.

The droid keeps a polite, slightly aloof silence for their trip. Only when they come to a stop does he lift his head to Obi-Wan and say, “Oh! We’ve arrived.” 

They’re pulled up in an empty courtyard, at what is obviously a seldom-used service entrance. Deefor leads Obi-Wan up a ramp and connects to the security portal at the door, waving Obi-Wan on with his free hand. “I’m dreadfully sorry for the secrecy, Master Organa felt it was wisest not to make a fuss of your arrival.” 

“It’s quite alright,” Obi-Wan assures him. “I’m not one for grand entrances, anyway.” 

 

;

 

Obi-Wan had expected to see Bail immediately, although as Deefor leads him through the palace he isn’t sure why he had made the assumption. 

“The Queen and the prince consort are unfortunately delayed by their daily schedules,” the droid explains. “They’ve requested I show you to your rooms instead, and you can rest before dinner is served. It’s supposed to be an arduous journey from Tatooine to Alderaan, if you do it in a single day, although I’ve never made the trip myself.” 

Obi-Wan has been tired for so long now he hadn’t recognized it, but the idea of rest is appealing. Perhaps he can wash off the outermost layer of sand and bantha dander, too, before he sees his old friends.

The rooms Deefor opens to him are hardly elaborate: an antechamber with bookshelves and comfortable seating, leading into a bedroom with wide glass doors. A balcony outside is surrounded by iced tree-limbs and a view of mountains. There’s a private fresher through a second doorway. It’s not fancy, but every piece of furniture is handsomely made, the linens draping with an elegance that belies their simplicity. This is a suite in the royal palace of Alderaan, and Obi-Wan is a personal guest of the Queen and prince consort. 

“I’ve provided clean clothes and any toiletries you should require,” Deefor says, indicating the inset wardrobe, and the accoutrements laid out on the marble counter of the fresher. “If I’ve neglected anything, please don’t hesitate to call.” He waves a hand at the comm screen beside the bed. “Welcome to Aldera, Master Ben.” 

 

;

 

Obi-Wan dreams of Tatooine: it’s noon, twin suns blistering overhead even in their winter weakness. The bridge of his nose cracks pink and burning. Tusken Raiders are moving through the bottom of the canyons, using the craggy shadows to keep out of the sun. It’s a hunting party. 

Owen Lars stands in his doorway. _You’re not welcome here,_ he frowns. Behind him, down in the courtyard of the complex, Obi-Wan can hear the noises of a child playing. 

“Luke,” a woman’s voice calls. 

Obi-Wan snaps awake. 

Leia.

 

;

 

He can’t feel her. Even here in the palace, her presence is inscrutable. The harder Obi-Wan looks, he’s met only with ripples in the collective consciousness of the Force, like a stone skipping on the surface of Aldera’s lake. His own feelings are reflected back to him, distorted and vague. 

For a moment, half-asleep, Obi-Wan wonders if another Force-user is shielding her. Master Yoda, perhaps, or– he’s heard rumors, whispers, that other Jedi escaped the massacre. But why would one of them shield the child from _him_? It doesn’t make sense. There has to be another explanation. 

Wiping his gritty eyes, he explores the fresher, running fingertips over the gleaming countertops and the carefully folded linens. Soap pods that smell of evergreen berries and spice are piled artfully in a bowl beside the sink. 

The fresher stall has both sonic and water controls, and Obi-Wan takes his time scrubbing through his hair with real, hot water. He feels younger, without the dust of Tatooine clinging to every pore, until he dries off in front of the mirror and takes in the dark circles under his eyes, the unkempt edges of his beard and the burn lines on his throat and ears. His hands look dry, and have spotted from working in the sun. He looks ten years older than he remembers. 

The clothes left for him in the wardrobe by Deefor are all neatly pressed, long tunics and trousers in the Alderaanian style. There’s a knit wrap that he hesitates over -- the icy blue material feels flimsy between his fingertips, but it’s buttery-soft, and when he drapes it over his shoulders it’s warm like puff-bird down. 

Obi-Wan has just decided to forego comming Deefor to explore the palace himself, maybe find Leia on his own, when there’s a knock at the external door. He steps into the antechamber to open it, and the Force sings around him, like nostalgia and anticipation and _hope_. 

Bail’s eyes are tired, and his shoulders are slumped under a heavy cape, but his smile is exactly as Obi-Wan remembered it. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes are prickling by the time Bail releases him from their embrace. He’d been afraid, when he left Coruscant; afraid of what Palpatine would do in the Senate, of what vengeance he would wreak if he discovered Bail’s part in his escape or Master Yoda’s. If he learned of the child Bail is hiding under his very nose. 

“It’s good to see you,” Bail says. The gruffness of his voice makes Obi-Wan feel slightly less self-conscious. 

Obi-Wan nods. “And you, my friend.”

Bail squeezes his arm. “It’s been too long. Come. Breha will join us for dinner, but there’s time for you to meet Leia before then.”

 

;

 

Obi-Wan hadn’t realized he was in the royal family’s private wing of the palace -- although it explains why he and Deefor had met so few people on their earlier entrance. His suite of rooms is actually just down the hallway from Bail’s personal office, and beyond that Bail leads him through a guarded set of doors. Ahead, another sentry is posted under the royal crest, obviously the Queen’s chambers, but Bail opens a smaller door, into the nursery. 

It’s nothing like the creche, which is Obi-Wan’s only previous experience with infants. 

The room glows with natural light, filtered through diaphanous silk curtains draping the tall windows. The floor is covered in soft woven rugs that match the hangings of the crib in one corner. A nurse droid straightens from one of the rugs, where she’s been playing with a fat baby, and rolls towards them. “Your highness.” 

“Hello, TooVee,” Bail smiles. “I can take it from here.” 

“Of course.” The droid folds her hands. “Please do remember to change the princess into appropriate play clothes if you decide to take her on one of your ‘adventures’ again.” 

Bail looks properly chastened, and nods. “Thank you, TooVee. I’ll be sure to do that.”

The droid _hums_ as she rolls away, letting the nursery door shut behind her. 

“Again?” Obi-Wan asks, glancing at his friend.

Bail sighs. “I took Leia out to the gardens the other day and she got mud on her leggings. TooVee was horrified. Because obviously mud on a baby’s leggings is the worst thing that can happen to her.” 

“It is rather irresponsible,” Obi-Wan says, mildly, and waits for the indignance of Bail’s scoffing before he lets a smile crack his lips. “Whatever did the Queen say?”

“The Queen said that I was hopeless,” Bail laughs, crossing the room to crouch beside the baby and lift her into his arms. “Here, Leia, say hello to Obi-Wan.” 

She’s just over a year old, if Obi-Wan’s math is correct, but Leia’s eyes are older, set wise and thoughtful in her chubby face. She tucks a finger into the corner of her mouth and drools, regarding him seriously. 

“Hello, small one,” Obi-Wan says, quietly. She has her mother’s eyes.

Leia extends her wet finger to him graciously, and Obi-Wan lets her curl it around his own outstretched fingers. Immediately, her presence trills through the Force, as pure and bright as the new snow on the mountaintops. 

“There you are,” he murmurs, and she ducks her head against her father’s chest, shyly. In the Force, he can feel her curiosity. She’s never met someone who shares her abilities, he realizes. She has wordless questions, but there’s also a trepidation he hadn’t expected, low and pulsing through the Force. Obi-Wan strokes her finger, and presses gently at that resistance. 

_There’s something in the dark._

Leia is watching him, still tucked against Bail’s chest. 

It’s something too big to measure, something bigger than everything she knows to compare it to. It’s a hungry darkness, consuming. 

It has red eyes.

_It can never find me._

“Obi-Wan?” Bail is smoothing the wispy tendrils of hair around Leia’s ears, rocking her gently. “What is it?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “She’s shielding herself. It’s a good thing.” 

“So no one can– feel her, using the Force?” Bail’s voice is hesitant, but he sounds relieved.

“No.” Obi-Wan smiles at Leia, and then looks up at Bail. “It doesn’t appear to be something we have to worry about, for now.” He’s never seen a child so young with such powerful shielding abilities, but Leia’s can only be a blessing. 

The fact that she’s aware of Vader’s presence is... regrettable. 

“I would like to spend some time with her,” Obi-Wan says, quietly. “To further assess her Force capabilities. Tomorrow, perhaps?” 

Bail nods. “We’ll tell TooVee to expect you.” He kisses Leia’s forehead, and she giggles, tipping her face up and smacking her lips as if attempting to return the gesture. Bail’s smile makes Obi-Wan’s chest ache, and he has to look away.

 

;

 

Dinner is served in the Queen’s private sitting room, and Leia wriggles and kicks her feet out on the rug beside the low table. Serving droids bring in platters of sautéed vegetables in rich shades of green and orange and yellow, a lean cut of meat with aromatic herb and wine sauce, and soft, yeasty bread that smells like butter. Bail is pouring three glasses of toniray when the doors open and a candledroid rolls in. Behind it, Breha enters. 

Obi-Wan rises, suddenly grateful that he’s wearing clean, Alderaanian clothes, not his grubby outfit from earlier in the day. 

Breha’s dress sweeps the floor as she steps forward to greet him, arms outstretched. She kisses his cheeks, and he can smell the perfume of the flowers woven into her hair. “Obi-Wan, thank you so much for coming. It’s so good to see you.” 

“And you,” he returns, feeling embarrassed and caught off-guard. He used to be known as the great negotiator, and now he’s fumbling his words like a schoolboy in front of a pretty girl. 

Breha smiles almost knowingly and squeezes his hand. “Sit. We should eat while it’s hot.”

The food tastes even better than it looks, and Obi-Wan eats slowly, trying to memorize each bite. He had forgotten that dining could be an _experience_ , rather than a perfunctory task. 

Breha has gathered Leia into her lap, feeding her small bites off her own plate as they eat. 

“Obi-Wan says that Leia is able to shield herself from other Force-users,” Bail informs her, quietly. “He says there’s no reason to worry for now.” 

Breha looks at Obi-Wan sharply. “You’re sure of this?”

Obi-Wan nods. “I couldn’t feel her, even on my arrival here, until we had made physical contact and she allowed me to sense her feelings.” 

“That’s incredible,” Breha says, squeezing Leia to her. “Our brilliant little one, aren’t you, Leia?” Leia turns her face against her mother’s chest, Breha’s pulmonodes casting a warm glow on her chubby cheeks and gap-toothed baby smile. 

“She’s getting sleepy,” Bail observes. “I promised TooVee I’d bring her to bed soon, but I knew you’d want to see her before that.” 

“Thank you.” Breha squeezes her husband’s knee and reaches for her glass of toniray. “Can you tell us about the boy, Obi-Wan? Is he happy?” 

“As far as I can tell,” Obi-Wan promises. “The Larses are good people, but I try not to bother them too much. Owen wants him to have a normal life.” 

Bail crosses his legs, looking thoughtful, but it’s Breha who asks the question. “Is that possible? If Leia has manifested her powers already–”

“Luke shows no sign of being Force sensitive at this time.” Obi-Wan takes a drink of his own wine. “I’ve tried to respect his parents’ wishes.” 

“Of course,” Bail agrees. “It just seems inevitable that at some point…” 

Obi-Wan wipes his hands carefully on the cloth napkin. “In all honesty, I didn’t expect either of the children to show any affinity towards the Force for some while. I thought we had more time to make these decisions.”

“It doesn’t surprise me that our Leia is ahead of schedule,” Bail laughs. “And forcing everyone else to catch up.”

Leia is drooling against her mother’s dress, tiny hand clutching Breha’s sleeve. Obi-Wan has a faint sense of her dreams -- her parents’ voices and warm sunlight and mischief. Seeing her, feeling her emotions in the Force, he isn’t surprised either. 

Bail scoops her up with large, careful hands, shushing her sleepy murmurings and cradling her fluffy head against his shoulder. “I’ll be back,” he promises, mouthing the words. Breha blows them a kiss as they leave. 

When Obi-Wan looks back to Breha, she’s watching him mildly. “They grow even faster than people warn you,” she says. “I’m glad you came. Even if there’s nothing to be worried about, it’s good to have you here.” 

Obi-Wan inclines his head. The toniray has his palms sweating against the delicate crystal of the goblet, sweeter and richer than the cheap wine he occasionally picks up at the Mos Eisley market. “I need to return to Tatooine,” he says. “Since Leia is safe. I need to be watching Luke.” 

Breha crosses her legs, her skirts rustling like birds’ wings. “Sabé is entirely capable of watching him in your absence.” 

Obi-Wan doesn’t doubt that, but he stumbles over the words to explain himself. “It’s simply that there’s no reason for me to _be_ absent, if I’m not needed here.” 

Across the room, the door clicks shut, and Bail stands against it for a moment without moving. Obi-Wan hadn’t even heard him enter. He has to get control of himself, if his senses are so easily overwhelmed. 

“Do you really think you are not needed here?”

Bail’s voice is as rich as the wine, and Obi-Wan sets his glass down on the table. It sounds loud in the room, and he wipes his hands on his trousers. 

“I made a promise,” he says, finally. “To watch over the children. You are taking care of Leia, and I have to–” 

“Not every moment for the rest of your life,” Breha says. “Surely, Obi-Wan.” 

“Sometimes I think we never should have separated them,” Bail says, approaching slowly. He sits on the lounge beside Obi-Wan, his hand splayed on the velvet upholstery between them. The heavy signet ring of the viceroy gleams beside his wedding band, and Obi-Wan chews the inside of his cheek. 

“That decision was made,” Breha points out. “It’s done. But there’s no reason you can’t be part of both their lives, even separate as they are.” She leans across the table to set her hand lightly on Obi-Wan’s wrist. Her fingers are delicate, a cool touch against his hot skin. “Or have a life of your own.” 

For an instant, Obi-Wan feels suspended between them, the Force unwinding every road forward. He had chosen to leave, that bloody day on the Tantive IV, had chosen to run, even when Bail offered him refuge. It had felt impossible to accept. 

It feels as heavy now, the weight of possibility.

Before—before the fall of the Jedi and the rise of Vader—there had been an unspoken understanding between them. During the Clone Wars, when the missions ran too long and too many, and exhaustion crept up around every corner, he and Bail had shared beds and attention. Bail had promised the first night that it was with his wife’s explicit permission, and Obi-Wan had never wanted to ask again. He trusted the two of them, and their vows to each other. It had felt safe. No possibility of attachment to an already married man. It was simply camaraderie and convenience, he’d told himself at the time, and ever since. 

It was simply a _lie_. 

Obi-Wan’s hand trembles beneath Breha’s.

He turns it over slowly, and their palms slot together. 

The Force is hissing like a flame, sputtering and burning behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes. 

“Stay with us,” Breha says. “At least the night.”

Obi-Wan opens his eyes. “Yes.”

 

;

 

The royal bedchamber smells of jasmeer buds and fresh evergreen leaves, a window cracked to let the clean evening breeze in. The curtains rustle, and outside is the whisper of snow falling in the palace gardens. 

Breha glows like the candledroids in the ornate chandelier above the bed, the golden pulse of her pulmanoids lighting her neck and face, casting her chest in soft shadows below. 

Bail’s hands are large, unfailingly steady on her waist as he unhooks the back of her dress. 

But Obi-Wan can feel a tremor in those graceful fingers as they move to his own tunic, and he takes a deep breath to still his own impatience, reaching for Bail’s collar. 

The bed finds the back of his knees and Breha pulls him onto the mattress beside her. Leaning over him, her dress barely held up, her hands pushing hair back from his face, she kisses him. 

Bail makes a soft noise, nearby, and his weight shifts the bed beside them. 

“I’ve never kissed a queen before,” Obi-Wan observes, breathlessly, and Breha laughs at him.

“I’ve never kissed a hermit before.”

“Is the beard so terrible?” Bail asks, thoughtfully. “It is larger than it used to be.”

“It’s not so terrible that I can’t imagine it between my legs.” Breha’s tone is arch and her lower lip is tucked between her teeth. 

Obi-Wan shivers beneath her look and Bail’s hands. “I might never forgive it if it prevented that, your majesty.”

“At least let me kiss him first, my love,” Bail says, with an air of weariness belied by the brightness in his dark eyes.

“Go on, then,” Breha says.

Propping up on his elbow, Obi-Wan catches the amused glance they trade, and watches Bail lick his lips. 

Kissing for an audience is new, but kissing Bail is as easy as it always has been. His mouth is whisper-soft. 

The Force is, blessedly, silent.

 

;

 

The cool light of early morning slides across Bail’s pillow, finding Obi-Wan’s bleary eyes. The bedroom is quiet, the breathing of his companions steady. Obi-Wan slides out of the bed carefully, moving to the doorway. 

There’s something in the Force, like the sound of laughter.

He follows it down the hallway to the nursery, and opens the door.

Leia’s mobile is moving above her cradle, the tiny fish ornaments dancing amid invisible air currents. Her fat fingers are outstretched, moving as a conductor’s at the opera. 

“Look at you, little one,” Obi-Wan whispers. 

She grins at him, gummy and pleased with herself, and her hands widen, an obvious command to be held. 

He picks her up gingerly, and she buries her fists in his beard, giggling. 

The train of the Queen’s dressing gown makes a feather-light noise against the floor behind Obi-Wan. 

“I told you it was good for you to be here.” Breha leans against the crib beside them, watching her daughter tug at Obi-Wan’s lips. 

“I still have to go back,” he says, quietly. 

“At some point,” Breha agrees. “But not immediately, and not forever.” She reaches out to smooth a wisp of Leia’s hair. “After all, you’ll have to train this one at some point.”

Leia squirms to be put down, and immediately heads for the window, pulling herself up on the sill to press her face to the transparisteel pane, peering out at the morning. She’s still so young, and yet Obi-Wan can see how quickly the years will pass. 

Leia smacks a gummy palm against the window, and crows at the sun, rising above the mountaintops, and the Force shines around her like dawn itself.


End file.
